


Sanctuary is where the Heart is

by theflowercrownedking



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, except not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 21:29:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12897228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theflowercrownedking/pseuds/theflowercrownedking
Summary: Sitting with his back to the counter and his face buried in his hands, James thinks about how he’s going to have to call Miranda and let her know he couldn’t make it.As if on cue, his mobile on the counter opposite lights up, vibrating furiously across the surface as Miranda’s name pops up on the caller ID. James makes no move towards it, though, and the noise disturbs the quiet of the kitchen. It should really bother James more that he’s leaving Miranda to dial out, but he’s caught up in thoughts of Thomas, and his chest hurts too much to move.The vibrating stops, and there are a few moments of blessed silence. It is quite violently shattered, however, as someone starts to loudly bang on his door.Or; a Zombie apocalypse AU.





	Sanctuary is where the Heart is

**Author's Note:**

> no betas we die like men
> 
> Also, I tagged it with canon-typical violence because of one encounter with a zombie. I know there are no zombies in canon, but its about the same amount of violence as would be expected in a normal episode of Black Sails.
> 
> The implied/referenced character death is because James thinks Thomas is dead, and mourns appropriately.

Light streams in through the open curtains, and James is so tired he doesn’t even have the energy to raise his arm and tug a pillow over his eyes. It’s probably for the best, he needs to get up. There are things to be done.

He lies there, staring at the streaks of light across the wall and feels drained. The bed is cold and unwelcoming, but lying there is still easier than getting up and facing the world.

He stumbles out of bed, stepping round empty liquor bottles and almost tripping on strewn clothes. He doesn’t bother diverting to the bathroom to splash his face with water; he knows that he looks as shit as his feels and no amount of cold water is going to ‘freshen him up’.

Moving into the kitchen he settles into a routine on autopilot.

Kettle on, mugs out (tea bag in one, coffee in the other), milk out and ready. As he waits for the kettle to boil, he puts some bread in the toaster, and gets the butter out of the fridge and plates out of the cupboard. He’s done this so many times before, it’s like there’s a rhythm to it, opening and shutting cupboards as he moves round the kitchen.

Kettle’s boiled, and away he pours; the green tea first, because Thomas doesn’t like the contamination of the spoons, of course, and James is always too lazy to get out a second spoon.

As he’s pouring the water into his own mug, he smells the rich scent of coffee and already feels better – it’s like his body has realised it’s about to consume caffeine from the smell alone. Standing there, inhaling the scent of coffee, he feels himself wake up a little more and – Oh.

He jerks, as he realises what he’s done, staring at the second mug, full to the brim with Thomas’ favourite tea made just the way he likes it.

Hunching forward, James grips the counter to steady himself. The pain in his chest is so strong he doubts his ability to stand for much longer. His eyes sting from unshed tears and he sinks to the floor, crumbling under the realisation that Thomas is gone.

Thomas is gone, and James couldn’t even say goodbye, and now nobody is here to drink the tea and read him the mornings news while he makes breakfast. Nobody is here to tease him over his toast-making skills, nobody is here steal sips of his coffee despite having ‘given up’ caffeine, and nobody is here to kiss him thanks for the food before taking over to do the washing up. Their morning routine is so familiar, so easy and reflexive to him that he’d begun it without realising, and as he sits on the ground, he feels desolate and broken.

Fuck the things he had to do today, he wants to go back to bed. Miranda can sort through Thomas’ things without him. There’s no doubt he’d feel guilty about leaving all the work to her later, but his heart hurts right now, knowing Thomas is gone, and he can’t bring himself to do anything about it.

An accident as he was returning from a meeting with his father was all it took to for the man he loved with all his heart to be taken from this world. He’d kissed goodbye to him in the morning, commiserated over the fact that the meeting he was going to have would no doubt be awful, and then that was it. No heartfelt farewell, no dying of old age together, just a quick peck on the lips and a ‘see you this evening’.

He'd had a missed call from Thomas, presumably after leaving his father’s but before getting into the car, and all James’ could think of was how the last familiar voice Thomas had heard was his bastard of a father, Alfred Hamilton, and not James himself. In truly dark moments, James wonders about the butterfly effect, and how – if James had been there to answer his call, he wouldn’t have been driving when the accident had occurred.

James recognised that his thoughts were spiralling, but with Thomas’ tea still on the counter, well past steeping and now awfully stewed – Thomas nose would wriggle at the smell of it, if he were here to witness – it was impossible for him to think of anything else. Sitting with his back to the counter and his face buried in his hands, James thinks about how he’s going to have to call Miranda and let her know he couldn’t make it.

As if on cue, his mobile on the counter opposite lights up, vibrating furiously across the surface as Miranda’s name pops up on the caller ID. James makes no move towards it, though, and the noise disturbs the quiet of the kitchen. It should really bother James more that he’s leaving Miranda to dial out, but he’s caught up in thoughts of Thomas, and his chest hurts too much to move.

The vibrating stops, and there are a few moments of blessed silence. It is quite violently shattered, however, as someone starts to loudly bang on his door.

He knows it’s not Miranda; she has her own key and would have just let herself in, so James has no qualms about shouting at whoever it is to “Fuck off!” from his spot on the kitchen floor. It was probably muffled through the door, but it would still be loud enough to get the point across.

It doesn’t appear to have the intended effect, however, as the banging only increases with a renewed vigour.

Maybe it’s that his emotions were being stretched out to the extremes, maybe it’s that he’d been despairing with no outlet for weeks, or maybe it’s just that he’s always been quick to anger, but James can feel his despondency shift quickly and steadily to anger as he isn’t being permitted the time for him to mourn in peace.

He rises from his spot on the floor, and surges forward, hardly realising that he’s still only wearing his sleep trousers and an old university t-shirt of Thomas’. He swings the door wide open, fully ready to start raging from the outset, but he freezes when he sees what’s in front of him. It’s a bald man (he’s recognises him; seen him around the building, a banker that lives on the floor above), but his shirt is ripped, his eyes seem unfocused and cloudy, and he’s covered in blood. There’s an awful gash splitting his wrist open, dripping onto the tile hallway beneath him, and the skin around his mouth is glistening red, as if he’d been –

He manages to take one uncertain step back before the man (creature?) lunges at him. It’s only his quick reflexes that save him as he manages to get his arms up and grapple the man, stepping backwards further into the apartment as he does it. This doesn’t deter the creature, as it continues to try and bite at him, snapping its jaws at him frantically. He manages to push it away, but it hardly acknowledges the impact with the bookcase behind it and swipes again immediately. He steps back again and the creature catches him off balance, making him trips over backwards. The blood-covered man immediately topples down above him, still going in to try and bite him.

He braces one arm against the man’s chest and he can feel the wetness of the blood on his shirt, slippery against his forearm, but he ignores it as he gropes around the floor with his other hand. A heavy paperweight had fallen off the bookcase after the creature had slammed into it, and rolled close to where they were currently struggling on the floor.

Reaching his arm out as far as he can, he fumbles once or twice before finally the tips of his fingers are within reach, and he grabs the heavy weight before swinging it up in a smooth arc to connect with man’s temple above him. He feels as well as hears the crack on impact, but apart from the momentum pushing it off to the side, the creature doesn’t seem deterred one bit.

Thinking quickly, James straddles its chest, pinning its scrabbling arms with his knees and bringing the paperweight down over the man’s face over and over until finally, after one sickening crunch, it stops moving entirely.

Stunned at his own display of violence, James looks down at his hands, covered in blood, and watches as they begin to shake and the panic begins to set in.

As if on cue, he hears his phone begin to vibrate upon the countertop in the other room. Scrambling up, he spares one glance at the now still body on his living room floor, before rushing back to the kitchen, closing the apartment door along the way.

“Miranda,” he says as he picks up, trusting her to be up to date on the news he’s been ignoring for the past fortnight. “What the _fuck_ is going on?”

**Author's Note:**

> No, Thomas isn't dead you fools. How could I have tagged this happy ending if Thomas were dead? I feel bad for making James so sad though. Poor guy :(
> 
> It's not even a spoiler for me to say he isn't dead because everyone knows that Thomas is immortal.
> 
> Also yeah, I have the rest of this story planned out, so I'm hoping to update soon. Next week is deadline week for me though, so this might not be updated till I'm free of that.   
> Sidenote: i hate coming up with titles please if anyone thinks of a better one lemme know. titles are my one weakness.


End file.
